


Warmth

by seeyouin-Asgard (Sentiment_for_Lost_Creatures)



Series: Mortality [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Blood, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, First Meetings, Injury, M/M, Minor Injuries, Roommates, Set: May 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 19:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2201175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sentiment_for_Lost_Creatures/pseuds/seeyouin-Asgard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom has been away filming a new movie. The shoot was long, the return journey was even longer. When he finally re-enters his flat, home finally feels like home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone

Tired. He’s cranky and jet-lagged. His arms hurt from dragging his luggage up to his flat because the lift was broken. Frustration flares when he struggles to get the door open. There are too many locks to get through and he’s stubborn enough to attempt it with an armful of hand luggage and jackets he removed on his trek up the stairs. All he wants is for something to be easy, just this once; to forgo eating and showering and to simply fall into bed and sleep for a week.

He loves his work, he really does; it defines who he is. When he finally got his break, nothing could have prepared him. From Marvel to Spielberg, Jarmusch to Shakespeare, then Disney and even _more_ Marvel, he honestly can’t believe his luck. Most recently, Canada has been his stage. It’s a beautiful country and a stunning place to shoot. On his free days, being able to immerse himself in the culture, the foreign cities were a lovely break from London. He had a blast with his fellow actors and crew, knowing these are people whose friendships he will cherish. The film itself, _Crimson Peak_ , is unlike anything he’s ever done in his already diverse career. The script was scandalous and the character was rich and dark and sensational to play — he’s excited for people to see it.

Sometimes this life gets demanding. He misses London, his favourite café with the little, old waitress who’s been there her entire life, his favourite bookshop tucked away from the busy streets; he misses his friends and family, being able to hop in his car or on a tube and turn up for a cup of tea should the fancy take him. But the one thing he doesn’t miss is the empty flat he calls home. Work — _the work he loves so much_ — makes it difficult to maintain relationships beyond the familial bond of blood and effortless friendship that comes easily to his likable nature. Though it seems everything lately is making it nigh on impossible for the kind of relationship he’s looking for to survive, one where he can return from a long shoot away to find his lover waiting for him.

Occasionally he’ll stumble into a fling, short and probably drunk, usually at one event or another. It’s easier when you’re both interested in privacy, not wanting what is essentially an emotional and sexual release plastered on the front of every gossip magazine from London to LA. Nothing ever comes from these liaisons, just a quick fumble here and an even quicker fuck there. He’s yet to discover that balance between work and love that others find so easily. Maybe there’s a vulnerability, a fear of getting hurt in the public eye, or more importantly he just hasn’t found the one. As cliché as it sounds, he just has not met that one person to share his life — the good and the hard — with.

The only thing right now that sounds better than crawling into bed, is crawling in next to someone.

So when Tom finally returns to London after four very long months — suffering through the extensive, uncomfortable flight to get home — what he’s expecting upon his return is a cold, dusty flat, just as painfully empty as always.

Not… _this_.


	2. Light

The first thing Tom notices when he finally stumbles in the front door is the yellow glow radiating down the hall from the living room. Knowing he was going to be in Canada for four months, he’d arranged with the building manager to have the electricity and heat turned off for the duration of his absence. What was the point of wasting energy and money when no one would be using it?It also saved him having to organise a house-sitter he could trust to make sure his refrigerator didn't self-combust, whilst not sneaking through his underwear draw.

The light is warm, maybe the sun is setting and he left the curtains open, Tom really couldn’t tell you the time. Leaving his various bags and coats by the door, he removes his shoes and starts warily down the short hallway. He goes to place his keys in the bowl on the ornate table set against the wall, only to notice things out of place. The bowl is upturned; the photo frame he was gifted on the set of _Thor_ is face down; and his MTV Movie Award has suddenly appeared from his study to sit beside the landline, which is coincidently off the hook. Even the air he breathes feels different, lighter; more alive and welcoming. There are new smells permeating around him as he approaches the living room. The unfamiliar but pleasant warmth in the air is the only thing stopping him from calling the police, or at least the landlord.

Tom reaches his living room suspiciously; the flat that should have been vacated for the last four months looks thoroughly lived in. His mail is piled high and partially opened on the coffee table instead of on the mat, and there are at least a week’s worth of various newspapers stacked high beside the envelopes. From the corner of his blue-grey eyes, a glint catches his attention.

The worn gold reflects from the paper of the thick leather bound book residing on the end table besides his favourite arm chair. The reclining legs of the chair are closed, but the slightly large rug on the floor is askew suggesting it has been used in his absence. The three scatter cushions from the sofa are propped haphazardly against the arms and the blanket from the spare bedroom is draped across the seat, having migrated from their rightful places.

He walks over to it, his fingers trace the embossed marks on the cover, the language unrecognisable. It’s unlike anything he’s seen before, and that’s coming from a man with a double first in Classics from Cambridge. The most reminiscent thing he can think of are the _runes_ found on the set of _Thor_. But that’s ridiculous, because despite all the research done, it’s _mythological_!

Looking around the rest of the room, Tom tries to figure out what in the world is going on. Small knickknacks are wonky, books from the study are scattered all over the room, and what seems to be a used coffee mug sits staring at him. He’s now starting to feel rather anxious. His privacy has been breached, someone has been here without his permission. Someone he knew wouldn’t have left this mess.

What if a crazed fan has discovered his empty home and _moved in_?


	3. Found

He glances around the room tentatively, eyes shifting back and forth, settling again on the mysterious book. _Deep breath, Thomas_. His heart races, panic rising at the thought of someone invading his flat. His personal space. Blood pulsing faster, his head slightly woozy, Tom falls onto the sofa. He rubs his hands over his face, fingers sticking in his knotted curls. _Breathe in_. Leaning back, his head lulls against the back rest of the sofa, eyes closed and arms heavy at his sides. _Breathe out_.

The room is silent — bar Tom's heavy breathing — not even the clock on the wall is ticking. The battery must have died. Far from the calm and clear headed he wishes for, his pulse almost audible in the quiet, Tom reopens his eyes. He stares at the white nothingness of the ceiling for the longest time, until… His eyes focus and a strangled gasp begins and dies in his throat. He leans forward in his seat, drawn in by the ethereal glow emanating from the ceiling light that is supposed to be without power.

Breathless, Tom forces himself to his feet. He reaches up, hand hesitant, fingers gently tap the peculiar light bulb to check the heat. Barely warm. Taking a breath, he twists the bulb, the light failing to dissipate. The glow only continues to pulse between his fingers, getting impossibly brighter, unnerving as his hold falters with a bolt of heat shooting through his veins. Shocked, the glass falls to the floor, shattering against the wooden boards. The room falls into darkness, only the dying light of the last sun remains filtering through the open curtains.

With little time to react to the glass, a gust of warm air rushes past knocking him off balance. Hissing through gritted teeth, Tom grips at his ankle as a sharp tremor shoots through his foot, the broken glass cutting through the skin. The intense pain blurs his eyes with tears, blinding him from the force pushing him to the sofa. He blinks to clear his eyes, black and pale skin comeing into sight. Hands grip his ankle, holding his leg still. He kicks the stranger away, only to have his foot pulled back.

“Sit still.”

Tom is shocked into silence by the authority of the voice. He watches the long fingers roll the sock off his foot, the blood dripping profusely from the wound. Seeing the amount of blood makes him dizzy, mumbling something about needing stitches.

“Do not be silly, it is merely a scratch.”

The face that looks up at him, whose eyes bore into his own, a stranger that looks so familiar. It’s like the reflection of a mirror. All he can do is sit and watch as the man, his doppelganger, aids his bleeding foot. Tom almost faints when the long, alabaster fingers glow and a warming sensation seeps into the cut, the pain and the blood stopping almost instantly. In the blink of an eye and the sweep of a hand, the blood vanishes from the floor along with the glass that caused the injury in the first place.

The man pushes the newspapers back and sits on the coffee table opposite him. With the nausea gone and a clearer head, Tom can finally _see_ who sits before him. His face, dark hair, pale skin, even the foreign book and all the mysterious glowing makes sense now. His heart begins to race again, the situation now all too real, too ridiculous and nonsensical. He opens his mouth but no words come out, and all the other does is stare.

“ _Loki_?”

The raven smiles, a warm smile that surprises Tom. Thinking it must be due to mild blood loss, Tom reaches out, his hand shaking as it approaches Loki's face. The smile remains and his eyelids flutter when Tom cups his cheek. Loki covers the hand with his own, marvelling as Tom’s warmth seeps through his skin. With his free hand, Tom sweeps Loki's damp, wavy hair behind his ear, taking particular note of his bare legs.

“Are—are you wearing my dressing gown?” Tom asks as if it’s the normal thing in the world.

“I may have just finished bathing when I heard the glass smash,” Loki shrugs, completely unashamed of abusing the facilities in Tom’s flat.

“Is everything magic: the light, the warmth?” Tom enquires.

“Warmth?” Loki tilts his head quizzically, taking Tom’s hand into his lap, “I have done nothing to alter the temperature.”

“It’s not… I’m not sure it’s exactly the temperature. I can’t explain,” Tom shrugs his shoulder lightly. “I come back after four months away to a flat that is supposed to be empty with no power, but instead I find glowing lights and wet gods,” Loki grins again, “But it’s the air; there’s _something_ in the air.”

Tom jumps up from the sofa, pacing around to the opposite side of the table, Loki twisting his body to follow him. He stops in front of his chair. “I was dreading coming home, because really, I can hardly call this place _home_ when I’m just waiting to leave again. But this time I come back and my pillows are in a different place,” he picks one up, throwing it to Loki who catches it easily, his green eyes wide and tracking Tom’s very movement as he points out certain things, “the rug is askew, this book looks like it belongs here. How is it I feel more at home now that the mythological god I’ve played in a few movies has broken in to live in my flat?”

Tom spins around. He stops moving, talking, almost breathing. Loki sits, shoulders slumped with his head down. His hair hides his face, but Tom can see he’s smiling no longer. “Loki?” He steps to him slowly, assuming how unpredictable the god could be. Crouching in front of him, Loki grabs his hands close.

The god looks up; his green eyes are bright and damp, his eyelashes dewy with unshed tears. “I never intended to be here when you returned, this was supposed to be but a rest stop before I—” he sighs, in taking a much deeper breath, “I have no home Thomas, but here — it feels different.”

Tom moves the newspapers to the floor and sits on the coffee table beside Loki, the wood quietly groaning under the weight of two fully grown men. “I may not understand how you exist or how magic is real, but that I do understand, Loki. It looks like you’ve already moved yourself in, so I suppose you can stay.” He bumps shoulders with Loki playfully, “I think I’d like it if you stay a bit longer.”

“Truly?” His face lights up involuntarily.

“Yes, I think I’d like to not be alone for once.”

They sit together in a companionable silence, sharing the warmth of each other and the seidr in the air. They contemplate their new living arrangement and the lighter feeling in their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have almost 20 story ideas for this series, which I'll get through gradually.  
> I'm hoping that writing this series will help me in also writing my Alpha/Omega FrostIron that I'm struggling with.
> 
> No beta, feedback is lovely!


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